The Tangle composer but never composed

Round and round they went; circling the area no matter the different twists or turns they took. Each path led them where they were. Alaister predicts the slow, predicts the panic that rises within Nereus.
Yeah, he agrees—they couldn’t go back, nor any closer. They’ve done what they could to lose the tracks. Part of him thinks they’re being paranoid, doubting that any would care enough that they’re on the run now. Another suspects that they’ve every right to worry.
What do you wanna do? Night’s still a while off. Alaister glances from the merle wolfdog skyward—though the sun has reached it’s point of falling it won’t be night til another hour or two.